


Love Run

by LadyAhiru



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Jealous Geralt, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Praise Kink, Romance, Smut, Soft BDSM, Soft Geralt, Top! Jaskier, all the feels, bottom! Geralt, pining Geralt, self hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAhiru/pseuds/LadyAhiru
Summary: Geralt pines after Jaskier who is completely oblivious to his feelings, until he isn't.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 437





	1. Love run, love run -  For all the things we wished we’d done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smilekittykat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilekittykat/gifts).



> Heya my lovely Witchlings!  
> A few words of warning. This fic is written mostly from Geralts perspective and deals with issues of self-hatred and feelings of not being good enough, not being worthy of love. However it does have a very soft and happy ending but I wanted to properly warn you ;) 
> 
> Chat with me on Twitter: @ladyahiru

Geralt hated people. Or more precisely he hated people that weren’t Jaskier. He hated that they smelled of fear, sour and mouldy like old bread when they talked to him. He hated the look in their eyes, staring at him but never his eyes, scared of the golden Amber. He hated that they flinched from his touch even when he paid for it, hated the speed with which they withdrew from him afterwards. He isolated himself from people as far as possible. Only grunted at them, didn’t interact with them if he didn’t have to, being fine with just sitting in a corner alone. Until the day a young bard made his way over to his table, staring and babbling and smelling of parchment and buttercups and honey. Geralt was intrigued by this fearless human, whose smell didn’t sour even after realizing what Geralt was. He blamed it on the bard’s sweet smell that he didn’t tell him to piss off, let him tag along on his journey.

They were in the middle of the forest, Jaskier happily humming his newest song, while rolling out their bedrolls, and not noticing the intense stare that Geralt focused on him. Something had changed during their travels together, something that Geralt was still too afraid to name. He was not stupid, he was aware that the bard cared for him, considered him his friend even, and yet he never made a move at the Witcher. There were soft touches here and there, touches that Geralt lived for now, like when the bard helps him clean up a wound after a fight. Geralt longed for these touches so much that sometimes in his battles he was more reckless then he was thought to be only so he could feel the bard’s tender fingers against his flesh while he was tending to his wounds, of course, the bard didn’t know that. He also made an effort to get dirtier than was necessary when fighting a monster, deliberately stepping into mud and dirt, getting it all over him so that the bard would force him to take a bath as soon as they reached an inn. The Witcher lived for those soft tender moments that Jaskiers sole focus was on him, not yet hurrying away to find a conquest for the night, but just focusing on him and him alone. Jaskiers caring fingers would work themselves through his blood-soaked hair, untangling and scrubbing at his scalp until he was clean again. Sometimes, when Geralt was really lucky, he would even take time to dig his thumbs into the knots in Geralts shoulders, applying pressure until the Witcher relaxed under him.

Geralt wished to hold onto these moments forever but like all good things in his life, they ended way too soon. Jaskier would wipe his hands dry, squeeze his shoulder one last time and go back downstairs to sing and dance until he found someone else to touch instead of Geralt As soon as Jaskier would leave the room and the door falls shut all the tension returned to his body and it was as the last hours of relaxation and tender touches never happened. He would sit there in the bath, thinking about the fingers that just washed his hair and touched his skin, that those fingers were touching someone else now, caressing someone else` body and probably whispering sweet promises in their ear and those thoughts would make something hot and ugly grow inside of him. But those thoughts weren’t the worst part, no, the worst part would come later when he was half asleep, waiting for Jaskiers return having him reek of other women and sex being covered in their marks of love and lust.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Jaskiers happy humming stopped. He looked up to find the bard staring at him. “WHAT?” he almost shouted at the Bard, who flinched and this reaction instantly made Geralt regret his angry tone. “What?” he repeated, softer this time, trying to put as much feeling in the word as possible. Jaskiers big cornflower blue eyes looked at him and something in them softened at the tone of his voice. “I asked what we are having for dinner.” And his voice was warm and kind and all that Geralt wanted to do then was reach over the fire, to push the bard down onto the furs under him, to bath in his scent, to kiss his soft skin, to bite and claim him, so that Jaskier would never smell of another person ever again. He didn’t of course, instead, he cleared his throat and mumbled something about going for a hunt, hurrying into the woods to calm himself down and find them dinner.

If Jaskier noticed something weird about the Witchers behaviour he didn’t say and instead welcomed him home with a bright smile on his face as soon as Geralt came from the hunt, a fat pheasant in tow. Geralt butchered the bird expertly before grilling it over the hot fire. He was silent as always and to his surprise so was Jaskier. The Witcher furrowed his brows, the bard was never silent, something must be wrong, but before he could ask what was going on, the bard shuffled around the campsite to sit next to him. There was a little bit of space between them so they were almost touching but not quite, and yet he could feel the warmth coming from Jaskiers body close to his own. “Cold?” he asked the bard, worry in his voice but trying to disguise his concern with a grunt. And Jaskier, sweet innocent oblivious Jaskier just nodded and started singing again, his lute in his lap and his head resting against Geralts shoulder, who hated and loved every second of it. Geralt focused his own energy into preparing the bird, making certain it was the way Jaskier liked it. He did allow himself one deep inhale to smell Jaskiers hair, soaking in the slight fragrance of oranges before grunting harshly and trying to carefully push the bard off him.

Jaskiers face fell with the gesture but he regained his composure quickly, used to Geralts unpleasant demeanour. His song only stopped for a second before he continued singing. “Thank you for the Pheasant Geralt.”, the bard said after they finished eating. A grunt was all Geralt managed in return. His heart fluttered at Jaskiers warm smile and then it almost stopped as the bard pressed his soft lips to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth, the touch so soft it was almost like the dance of a fairy wing, like a ghost whispering to his lips. Blushing the bard got up and shuffled to their shared tent, while the Witcher just sat there and stared at him leaving unable to move yet. Only when the bard was out of sight did he allow his tongue to flick up to the corner of his mouth, chasing the taste of Jaskiers lips then touching the spot on his cheek with his calloused fingers, staring in wonder. Never before had Jaskier touched him like this and hope fluttered inside his heart like a butterfly in spring. Maybe Jaskier felt the same way about him after all? Maybe he- … Geralt stopped himself. Fantasies and Wishes were for real people, not Witchers and when he went inside the tent that night he laid down as far from Jaskier as possible, careful as not to touch him accidentally.

They continued their journey as if nothing happened, Geralt pushing the longing inside him down until he had himself convinced that the kiss never happened in the first place. Back when he was a little boy and still full of hope and laughter and love before his mother had handed him over to the Witchers he had dreamed of having a true friend and he had to admit to himself that Jaskier was indeed a true friend. He cared about him and even though he had sent the bard away multiple times he always came back to him. It wasn’t his fault that he was only interested in women, that he could never see Geralt the way Geralt saw him, even if he could accept his brutal appearance his animal-like eyes, his white hair, his scars and burns and brutish figure. It was a small solace that at least it wasn’t just because of his personality or his looks, he simply had the wrong gender to catch the bards’ heart. Sadly that didn’t stop him from dreaming late at night when he was meditating, dreaming of Jaskier and wishing they could be together that way. The worst was when Jaskier always sleeping so close to him huddled closer, seeking warmth and cuddling into him.


	2. Run from all you know that’s coming

They reached a small town soon after. Geralt immediately went to the mayor’s office to look for work while Jaskier scored them a room at the local inn. They had a perfect routine so that they didn’t even need to talk about it before going their separate ways. Normally after he would score a job he would let Jaskier know and then they would argue for about thirty minutes in which the Witcher would insist that the bard would stay back at the inn, which said bard would ignore, so they then would travel to slay whatever monster lurked around together before retiring for the evening. The bickering before, during and after was an old dance that Geralt enjoyed and looked forward to even though he would never admit that to anyone. This time the spiel went differently though. This time when he returned from the meeting with the mayor, ready to tell Jaskier about the Drowner Nest nearby the young bard was not waiting for him alone. Instead, he sat next to a broad man in maybe his mid to late thirties giggling like a little girl at everything the other man said. Geralt blinked once, twice, three times before approaching them. The unknown man stiffened at his approach but Jaskier just waved at him. “Jaskier, we have a job,” he grunted before focusing his angry gaze at the broad man next to his bard.

“Oh yes?” Jaskier didn’t even look at him still focusing on the new man instead. “What kind?” the bard asked “Drowners, a Nest. We-“Geralt started to say before he was interrupted by Jaskier with a dismissive “Ja, ja, I am sure you can take care of them by yourself. Joff here was telling me how he got this scar.” Not only did Jaskier dismiss him with a wave of his hand, but no his other hand also made its way up Joffs rolled up sleeve to slowly trace along the scar on his bare arm. Geralts amber eyes now clouded dark with fury and his hands curled into fists next to his legs just stood there not believing what was happening. Irritated by the bard’s behaviour and seething with anger he turned around and wordlessly stormed out of the inn ready to kill. All he could think of on the way to the Nest was the way Jaskier had looked at the man, his cornflower blue eyes glazed over with lust and affection, how his hands had caressed the man’s arm and the way he had dismissed Geralt like a child that bothered him. Bitter acid curled up from the Witchers stomach and he had to focus his breathing for a while to stop himself from throwing up. He was used to seeing the world through the filter of one of his potions but he wasn’t prepared nor used to fight while his eyes were full of tears. Geralts brain went into overdrive, so it wasn’t that Jaskier wasn’t interested in other men. It was just him that he didn’t care for, that repulsed him. It was probably because he was a Witcher and not human-like all his other lovers…

His brain was so focused on Jaskier and what happened earlier that it couldn’t compensate. It couldn’t worry about Jaskier and deal with a nest full of Drowners at the same time and so Geralt missed the last Drowner coming at him from behind. The Monster crashed into him and bit hard and fast into his shoulder, so hard that he lost his grip on his silver sword. This was it then he thought, the end, how fitting that he should die alone while his loved one was with another. He punched at the beast with his other hand, struggling to get free of its grip. The Drowner had his claws around his neck, suffocating him while he flapping around like a fish on land. “GERALT!” Geralts eyes flew open and he turned his head slightly to the left where he saw Jaskier, breathing heavy. He pushed the silver sword back into Geralts hands before falling to his knees. With renewed vigour, he swung his arm around and with one strong slice, he decapitated the last standing Drowner.

Geralt took a deep breath, ignoring his bleeding shoulder and dropping to his knees right in front of Jaskier. “Are you hurt!?” he shouted at the bard. “Am I hurt? AM I HURT!?” Jaskier grabbed him by the unhurt shoulder. “I can see your fucking bones you stupid bastard!” he shouted at Geralt to which Geralt only responded with a grunt. It wasn’t as bad as the bard made it out to be, a few stitches, a hot bath, a good night`s rest and he would be as good as new. Jaskier was still staring at him as he got back to his feet. Geralt wanted to ask him what had happened to Joff but he was currently enjoying Jaskiers undivided attention so he kept his mouth shut. Instead “Come on, the inn is waiting.” was all he said. They spent way back to town in silence and only made slow progress as Geralt was dragging five Drowner heads behind him, Jaskier didn’t even hum he just kept a close look at Geralts open wound. Back at the inn, Jaskier went into what Geralt usually called his “Overly Mother Hen Mode” where he gave orders in a strong and respectable voice that people usually followed. For instance, even though he was dripping with blood and gore instead of being shown the door he was lead to a nice room containing a hot bath and a sack for the Drowner heads was quickly provided.

He had just finished undressing when the bard came into the room with a flourish and put his potion pack on the table, unloading a few things only to run out again to get more stuff all the while mumbling to himself about stupid Witchers. Geralt relaxed, this was familiar ground for him. He let his aching body submerge into the hot bathwater and closed his eyes, the sounds of the rummaging bard a sweet lullaby that let him breathe easily. Finally, he felt Jaskiers warm hands carefully cleaning out his shoulder, they didn’t speak and Geralt wished he could draw out this moment forever. His companion’s hands felt soft against his bruised skin, methodically cleaning his wound like he had done many times before. When they had first started travelling together Jaskier had turned green by the sight of blood, now he was an expert in how to clean and stitch wounds together and did so with great care and awareness. In those moments Geralt almost felt loved, when Jaskiers soft hands caressed his skin, the bard smelling worried but not afraid of him, the room quiet except his humming.

Jaskier stitched up his wound, applied a soft healing balm to the hurt flesh and then to Geralts absolute surprise and delight hugged him from behind while he was still sitting in the wooden tub. The bard’s voice sounded hurt and small and Geralt put his big calloused hands on top of the thin arms hugging his torso from behind. “Never scare me like that again Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded and Geralt wished he could make that promise. They both knew he couldn’t so instead of answering he just held the bard close to him for what seemed like only a few minutes. After a while, Jaskier loosened his arms around him and even though he didn’t want to let the bard go he pretended to be happy about it, grunting and finishing his bath. They didn’t speak that night and Geralt was unsure how he felt about that. He tried really hard not to think about Jaskiers behaviour in the tavern earlier that day. After his bath they sat together in silence, Jaskier reading, leaning against Geralt, who didn’t dare to move, just staring into the fire, afraid that Jaskier would leave and go looking for Joff again. The Bard didn’t, he stayed close to Geralt the whole night and Geralt allowed himself to relax a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toss a Comment to your Writer!  
> Part 3 will follow soon ;)


	3. Run to show that love’s worth running to

They were both tired and Geralt seemed to be in an even fouler mood than usual. It had been raining for days and they were both exhausted, wet and hungry and it would take them another day to reach the parting fork in the road where they usually went different ways for the winter. Geralt would head north to Kaer Morhen while Jaskier would take the other road, to stay at some court during the colder months. Geralt didn’t want him to leave, he didn’t want to be separated from his bard for the next 5 months, but he couldn’t say so, so he just rode on in silence, listening to the quiet shuffling of feet as the bard was silently walking next to him ~~.~~ The bard always grew quiet when they reached this part of the path, and a small part of Geralts hoped that the reason for this was that Jaskier didn’t want to part ways either. But every year since almost ten years their journey from this point forward would follow the same routine, like a Play they’ve written together, either of them playing their part without thinking, afraid of ever-changing anything as not to ruin it.

It would always play out like this: They would leave the last small town behind them, then Geralt would make up an excuse as to why he wouldn’t be able to ride Roach for the upcoming part of the journey. “She’s tired.” “Your singing made her sick.” “She has something stuck in her shoe.” “I think she might have had an allergic reaction to the apples you fed her.” and Jaskier would always accept the excuse, affirming it even though they both knew it was horseshit. “She does look tired indeed.” “Ah, I better compose a better song then next time.” “Mhm, we better go slow so she doesn’t hurt herself.” “Ah poor Roach, we better make sure she gets lots of rest.” The trick was to pretend that the excuses were absolutely reasonable and ignoring Roaches annoyed huffing. After Geralt dismounted they would walk alongside each other, so close that sometimes their hands would brush against each other by accident. Then Jaskier would complain about his cold fingers, that they would freeze off, rendering him unable to play and Geralt would grab his hand and hold it for the rest of the journey. They wouldn’t talk until they reached the fork in the road where they had to part ways and when they had finally reached it they would stare at each other before Geralt would say something hurtful and mean so their parting would be more bearable for him or just because was all he could think of to say not being able to express what he really felt, but which would bring Jaskier to the brink off tears and make him feel angry, hurt and confused not knowing what he’d done to deserve being treated this way.

Then they would stare at each other for a short time, both not knowing what to say next. In the end Jaskier would be turning around stomping off south, away from Geralt and the hurtful words that still hung in the air, questioning their friendship for the umpteenth time and asking himself if he should even return come spring. Geralt in turn would just keep standing there in the fork of the road looking after the bard, feeling like the monster he deep down thought he was, praying the bard would return come spring.

This year didn’t start any different. He dismounted Roach after muttering about her getting older and needing more downtime. Jaskier as always agreed with him, and they walked on hand in hand until they could see the fork up ahead. Geralt felt himself slowing down, felt the bitter taste of acid bubbling up from his stomach. He couldn’t do it this year, wasn’t able to muster the courage to look at Jaskier and lie to him. Lie about the way his music made him feel, lie about the way his voice sounded to him when he laughed, how he felt when looking at him. This year he couldn’t let go of Jaskiers hand when they reached the branch in the road. The bard gave Geralt a flustered look confused by the sudden change in their routine but waited patiently for whatever might come next.

Geralt didn’t know what to say so he just stood there, holding the bards hand until finally he found his voice and even though he didn’t plan to say the words out loud they came anyway. “Come with me this year. You can’t write about Kaer Morhen without ever having seen it.” He knew was probably a bad idea, that Vesemir would be furious with him but he didn’t care, it was too late now anyway, the words were spoken and if there were any last bits of doubt about the decision they left him as soon as he saw the brilliant smile on the bards face, who was still just standing there staring at the Witcher in disbelieve. Geralt cleared his throat and helped Jaskier up on Roaches back, leading them both on the northern path.

Vesemir wasn’t as mad at him as he thought, if anything the old Witcher looked smug. Geralt ignored it as best as he could while enjoying the attention everyone was giving his bard. Eskel and Lambert asked Jaskier a hundred questions and the bard basked in their compliments about his songs. All was well for a few weeks. ~~~~

Then one night they got a surprise visit from another Witcher. Geralt had met Uris only once before, many years ago before he was known as the White Wolf, before he met a certain bard on the road. Uris was a huge man, clearly living up to the reputation of the School of Bear. He was as tall as Geralt and if possible even wider. Thick black hair curled around his ears and his dark brown eyes stared intensely at Jaskier the second he laid eyes on the bard. To Geralts ultimate horror Jaskier started flirting with the new arrived Witcher almost the second they met. He would flutter his pretty eyelashes, made excuses to touch him, to be near the huge man and Geralt died a little inside every time they touched.

He hadn’t left his room in the last three days and was vastly invested on ignoring the knocks on his door, until he heard someone temper with the lock, the sound of small metal wires rubbing against the bolt of the door and when it finally sprang open, Jaskiers familiar smell filled the room in an instead. Geralt didn’t look up from the armchair he was sitting in, had been sitting in unmoving staring out the window for the last three days. “Geralt?” Jaskiers voice sounded small and scared. Scared **not of** him **but for** him and Geralt pressed his eyes shut, trying to blend out the voice around him. The bard didn’t go away, instead he crept closer, slow and steady like he would approach a wounded animal in the forest. He could feel the heat coming of Jaskiers body when he finally stopped close in front of him, he could hear him shuffle, crouching down so he was kneeling in front of the heavy armchair.

“Please Geralt. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong? You haven’t left your room in days….have you even eaten?” Geralt didn’t respond but he gave in to his screaming heart and opened his eyes. He made sure to focus his gaze somewhere on Jaskiers cheek and not the teared up cornflower blue eyes. He could see how worried Jaskier was about him. At least the other man still cared for him even if it was just as a friend. Jaskier reached out and put his small hand carefully on Geralts knee. “Please talk to me.” He pleaded, begged almost, his face full of sorrow. “I am fine.” Geralt grunted in return. He just wanted to be left alone, to embrace his sadness and brood in silence until all those ugly feeling would go away. Jaskier studied his face, his hand still resting on the Witchers knee. “You aren’t fine Geralt. Just please tell me what’s going on so I can help. Uris said-“hearing the other Witchers name made something inside of Geralt snap, he flicked Jaskiers hand of his knee so forcefully that the bard fell back, landing on his backside. The bards blue eyes widened in shock as Geralt jumped to his feet, shaking violently while pointing at the door. “Get… out…!” he said through gritted teeth. Jaskier shook his head in confusion. “What no Geralt….” He mumbled almost inaudible “GET! OUT!” Geralt said, yelling this time, he grabbed Jaskiers collar, pulled him to his feet and started to push him out of the room. “I DON’T WANT YOU HERE!” He screamed and Jaskiers face fell as tears started to run down his face. “Go and be with your precious Uris and stop bothering me.” Jaskier refused to give in and be pushed out of the room, struggling against the Witcher. “What in Heaven's name are you talking about Geralt!? What’s your problem with me befriending Uris?” “Ohhhh, Befriending is what you call it now?” Geralt pushed harder this time, Jaskier didn’t stand a chance against a Witcher's strength and was smacked hard against the wall outside opposite Geralts bedroom.Geralts next words came out in an angry hiss. “Is that what you tell yourself when you are prancing around everyone like a common whore!?” Jaskiers face went pale, his fingers gripped hard into the Witchers arms, who still held him tight against the stone wall.

“How many _“friends”_ have you had since we met Jaskier!? A hundred? A Hundred and Twenty? Five Hundred? Is there any women or men on the continent you haven’t bedded!?” Geralt continued to hiss. Jaskier hurt by the Witchers accusations and now furious himself, unable to understand how the Witcher could say such things and think so little of him managed to wiggle one of his arms free and slapped Geralt hard across the face His hand stung probably more than the Witchers face but he would do it again if he was further insulted that way. “How dare you!” the bard shouted at Geralt who relentlessly continued yell back at him. “And now that you decided to add Witchers to your long list of conquest…tell me little lark…” and suddenly his voice lost all anger and he just sounded sad and broken when he continued, his amber eyes finally seeking Jaskiers blue ones and staring. “Tell me…why him? What…what does he have that I don’t…” To his own horror Geralt felt himself tearing up and his grip around Jaskiers shoulder loosened a bit. “Why will you love anyone but me?”

Jaskier stared at him, a range of emotions dancing across his face. Confusion, Anger, Understanding, Hope and finally Love. He gently grabbed Geralts chin and lifted his face up, softly pressing himself against the Witcher. “You beautiful idiotic fool.” His voice was but a whisper. “Geralt, oh Geralt, you absolute and utter moron.” Geralt felt like he should be offended by the words but the way they came out of Jaskier mouth made his knees week. The bard reached for his hand and pressed it hard against his chest, right over his beating heart. “My heart beats just for you.” He raised himself to his tiptoes and brushed his lips softly against Geralts. “My soul only sings for you.” His arms came around Geralt and he slowly pushed the Witcher back until his knees reached the bedframe. “My eyes only see you.” His hand on Geralts face rubbed smoothly over the stubble on his cheeks. “My mind seeks distraction on the road, for I thought I couldn’t have what I truly wanted but you….” And he softly pushed against Geralt until they were back in Geralts room again and the Witcher sat on the bed, Amber eyes blown open wide and staring in wonder. “But you…seem…to be jealous my dear Witcher. When there is truly no reason to feel so. You only need to ask for what you want and I will gladly give it to you. Always.” And he grinned so confident that Geralt felt himself wonder how he could have ever thought the bard weak.

The words finally sunk in and Geralt brought his hands to tighten around the bard's hips, forced him close to stand between his open legs. “I want you.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “Not just in my bed to warm my cock, but besides me on the road and…” He breathed in, unsure how to speak his mind. Jaskiers hands found his hair softly weaving his fingers through it. Soft lips grazed his forehead as the bard whispered to him. “Continue my dear.” “I want…” Geralt allowed himself to let his hands slip under the wide shirt that Jaskier was wearing, a tender touch on the bard’s soft hips. “I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to kiss you and hold you and protect you until your last day. And then….” He looked up and pulled Jaskiers face close to his, so close that their noses were touching. “And then…I want to find you in the next world so I can love you all over again.” Sobbing Jaskier climbed on top of him and finally brought their lips together in a long-overdue kiss. He gave Geralt another soft pushed and climbed over him as soon as he laid flat on the bed. He intertwined their hands together and kissed the Witchers lips once more. “Just in case I wasn’t clear, I love you too Geralt. Only you.” The Witcher smiled at him and Jaskier swore that he never in his life had seen anything as beautiful as Geralt letting all his love show on his face. Whatever destiny had in store for them he knew right then and there that they would conquer it together until the end of time.


	4. Sing me awake

Jaskiers delicate hand wandered back into the Witchers hair, pulling the white strand free from the hairband and letting his fingers run trough. The bard kept placing soft kisses all over Geralts face and neck and the larger man relaxed into the soft bed sheets under him. All his life people expected him to take charge to be forceful and strong and yet here they were. Jaskier above him with that lovely smile and his soft and tender kisses, not expecting one single thing from him, except to let himself go and feel. His arms slowly came up to caress Jaskiers sides but he didn’t dare to go any further than small butterfly touches. He didn’t mind rough and hard sex but he wanted to show Jaskier that he was special, that they had all the time in the world to love each other.

Jaskier kept kissing him until his whole face tingled and his breathing slowly hitched. The cornflower blue eyes never leaving his face. “What do you want my dear Witcher?” his bard asked and Geralt was once again speechless. No one had ever asked him that, not even the whores he had paid for their company, they like everyone else had assumed that he liked to fuck like an animal, hard, fast and relentless and even though he wanted to see Jaskiers fair skin covered in his marks that was not what he wanted for their first time. Instead he let himself just feel and sink deeper into the bed. Jaskier properly climbed on top of him, placing soft kisses on his neck, where his shirt fell open. “Is this ok?” he softly asked and Geralt could only nod. Jaskiers fingers made fast work of his shirt buttons, pushing the now open garment over Geralts shoulders, carefully tugging on the sleeves to get it off him. He threw the shirt onto the Armchair that Geralt had been sitting in and resumed his kissing. His fingertips danced over Geralts uneven skin, lighting sparks inside the Witcher. Every now and then he would stop and look at Geralts face, making sure that he didn’t cross any invisible lines or made his love feel uneasy.

His fingers traced the scars on Geralts torso and when the Witcher didn’t complain but instead breathing a bit faster than usual, eyes half-closed and a soft smile on his face Jaskier pushed the Witchers arm over his head. Geralt blinked but kept them there, Jaskiers grip around his wrists was soft and light and they both knew that he could break free easily if he so desired. Geralt smiled at the bard and just nodded when Jaskiers questioning gaze met his. “I do trust you with my life little lark.” His own voice sounded hoarse and broken in his ears, embarrassed to have voiced his emotions. “Move up,” Jaskier said and together they shuffled up the bedframe until Geralts hands reached the wooden headboard. Jaskier left the bed then for a minute but only to rummage around the room shortly, coming back carrying some hempen rope and looking at Geralt with such love and adoration that the Witchers already slow heartbeat missed a beat. He climbed back onto Geralt, rubbing himself against the Witchers hard body, once, twice, three times before settling in on top of him, waiting.

“We don’t have to…” Geralt could only stare, feeling the rope against his hands, ready to be wrapped around and restrain him. He experienced a flood of feelings and unable to put them into words he grunted in frustration. He wanted to tell Jaskier how much he loved him, that he trusted him blindly, that there was nothing he would say no to if it only meant being kissed and caressed again by the bards' soft hands. Thankfully Jaskier was well versed in the Witchers grunts and so he waited, simply touching the Witchers cheek, rubbing his thumb over the shell of his ear until Geralt nodded. “I….I want to let go.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew them to be true and Jaskier smiled and started to tie the ropes around his arms and the wooden headboard. Loose enough that Geralt could break free if he needed to but tight enough that he could feel it heavily against his skin.

As soon as he was restrained Jaskier continued to press light kisses onto his chest, slowly letting his lips glide over his exposed skin, stopping at each and every scar to bring his wet tongue out and slowly but surely drive Geralt insane. The Witcher had never felt like that, his whole body was on fire, his breeches uncomfortable tight around his groin but Jaskier was in no hurry to even get them off him, himself still fully clothed. Jaskiers warm and wet mouth continued its journey to his left nipple and teeth carefully grazed around the hard nub, while his hands played with the other one. Geralts breathing quickened and a soft moan escaped his mouth, earning him a proud smile from Jaskier before he continued his relentless teasing.

The bard took his time to take him apart and reduced him to a withering mess, bucking his hips up and drooling against Jaskier mouth when he came back up to kiss him. “I…Please…” Geralt didn’t recognize his own voice. He had never before in his life begged and yet here he was begging for more. “Tell me Geralt.” Jaskiers fingers slowly glided under his waistband. “Tell me what you want. I will give everything to you. Just tell me Geralt.” His voice sounded deep and full of feelings and Geralt pressed himself harder against the bard. “Please I- I need your hands on me. Your mouth. I need to feel you everywhere.” He was ashamed for a second but Jaskier wouldn’t have any of it. He made fast work of Geralts clothing and wrapped a lute calloused hand around his aching cock. “You are doing so good for me Geralt. I am so proud. You are so beautiful.” Geralt could only whimper, slowly letting go of his own inner restrains and fears.

Jaskiers hand pumped him hard but slow and all he could do is buck his hips up to get more friction. “You feel so good Geralt, you almost don’t fit in my hand. Look at you, you are magnificent.” Gods the bard sounded as wrecked as he felt and he raised his head up askingly. Jaskier immediately met him in a soaring kiss, speeding up his hand while his tongue explored Geralts mouth. He wrapped his free arm around the Witcher, half climbing on top of him one leg pushed between the Witchers. “Let go Geralt, I’ve got you. I will catch you, love.” And all Geralt could do was follow Jaskiers command, spilling all over the bards' hands. His breathing came in harsh little gasps and Jaskier wiped his hand into the bedsheets before starting to undo his own clothing. His eyes never left Geralt, looking for any small sign of discomfort or hurt.

When he didn’t find any he pushed his already wet hand up to Geralts mouth. “Lick.” He said and Geralt eagerly complied. His mind still rallying from his orgasm he wasn’t able to feel embarrassed or hold himself back any longer. He coated Jaskiers finger in spit and sucked on the sensitive tips, happy to coax a moan out of his bard. Way to soon the bard removed his hands and brought them between the Witchers open legs. Cornflower blue eyes found amber ones and a tender kiss was pressed to Geralts lips. “You can tell me to stop anytime.” A slender finger was pressed against his rim, slowly and carefully pushed inside and Geralts breath hitched. “You can tell me to stop, and I will still love you as I do now. Do you understand?” The finger stopped and Geralt looked at Jaskier, waiting for it to continue, waiting to be full but the bard didn’t move until the Witcher nodded. “I…I understand.” Only then did Jaskier continue to push inside the Witcher, slowly moving his finger in until he found the spot inside Geralt that he was looking for. He crooked his finger and was rewarded with a hard grunt and Geralts panting under him.

“Good?” he asked and Geralt could only nod, pushing against the finger greedy for more. Jaskiers kisses turned heated when he inserted another finger and shortly afterwards a third. Geralt was panting and moaning, everything that held him back before long gone, to good the feeling of his love taking care of him. “Please Jas, please, need you…” and Jaskier complied. In an instant, the fingers were gone but before the Witcher could complain he was filled with Jaskiers hard cock, his legs pushed up to his chest, the ropes around his wrists sweetly burning. “I love you Geralt. Sweet, sweet Geralt. So good, your sooo good for me my beautiful Witcher. Oh the feel of you around me. Perfect. Home.” Whimpering Geralt could feel another orgasm building up inside of him. He wrapped his legs around Jaskiers waist, pulling the bard even closer, digging his heels in the smaller man’s backside.

They found a slow but steady rhythm and Geralt came once again shortly after Jaskier released his own seed inside of him. Done the bard crashed down on his chest, heavy breathing and sweating but smiling. “I love you, dear Witcher,” he whispered while lazily undoing the Witchers restraints. “I love you too little lark.” As soon as Geralts arms were free of the ropes he brought them around Jaskier, pulling him as close as possible. He closed his eyes, feeling himself drifting into sleep and for the first time ever he truly felt at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a Comment to your Writer and another one to my beloved Editor/Beta @Smilekittykat


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